


Edge of Desire

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Breaking the curse, Character Development, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 11:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Wynonna doesn’t really understand love. She knows what Waverly’s fingertips feel like, brushing away her tears in the late hours of the night, knows the taste of Nicole’s home cooked meals, knows the approving warmth of Doc’s hand on her back every time she does something that would make Wyatt proud. And maybe the most confusing of all, she knows the feelings of Dolls’ lips on her shoulder, in her hair, against her mouth, so jarring yet so soft it leaves her more breathless than anything— or anyone— else ever has.Based on the song "Edge of Desire" by John Mayer.





	Edge of Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Highly recommend that you listen to the song that serves as the inspiration and basis for this fic, "Edge of Desire" by John Mayer, either before, during or after reading this. (Let me know if it makes you cry as much as it does for me)

_ Young and full of running _

_ Tell me where's that taking me? _

_ Just a great figure eight or a tiny infinity _

  
  


Sometimes Wynonna wonders if it’s worth it. The first  _ it,  _ being breaking the curse, and the second being how much pain and exhaustion it brings her  _ every  _ goddamn day of her life, without fail, even in her dreams. There’s no rest, not even on the days she’s sniffling and coughing with the flu or when the world is a white, barren blizzard outside her window and the Jeep can barely make it out of the driveway. 

When she thinks of her childhood —  and she tries not to — she remembers sitting at the dinner table, listening to her father explain the curse. It was mainly for Willa’s sake, but Wynonna was a wary child and she always felt cursed to begin with, if she’s being completely honest, so maybe she was listening a little more intently than she really needed to be. Even then she ached with the burden that wasn’t yet hers to bear. She’s always been selfless, just as she’s always been selfish- she doesn’t know how she can be both, but somehow, here she is, a contradictory mess of a human being. 

It’s nothing new, but self-awareness and deprecation go hand in hand, and even as she gets closer to breaking the curse and relief seems almost visible, all she thinks about is how she wishes she could take a break  _ now. _

She can’t, of course, but when the burn of cold air in her lungs stings a little sharper after sprinting across a field and sending another revenant into the ground, she reminisces on Athens, thinks of open beaches and warm sun and being able to breathe, even if there was regret somewhere under all that relief, and she wants to be done. 

It’s just  _ hard.  _ Sometimes she doesn’t think she gets enough credit, because she may have help and support and a freaking genius historian for a sister, but at the end of the day she’s the only one who can actually break the curse, and that’s a lot. It’s never dissipating pressure, and she knows it’s worth it; she’ll make a better life for her family and friends if she succeeds — the rest of Purgatory too, although they likely won’t even know she saved their asses, and even if they did, it would just seem like fair trade for all the illegal activities she’d done in her youth. 

It’s just that Wynonna’s done a lot of shitty things in her life. She knows it. The people around her know it. Breaking the curse would be the first thing she’s done that makes a real change, that leaves a mark on the world rather than a stain, but sometimes it doesn’t seem like it’s even enough, not even for herself.

  
  


_ Love is really nothing _

_ But a dream that keeps waking me _

_ For all of my trying _

_ We still end up dying _

_ How can it be? _

  
  


Wynonna doesn’t really understand love. She knows what Waverly’s fingertips feel like, brushing away her tears in the late hours of the night, knows the taste of Nicole’s home cooked meals, knows the approving warmth of Doc’s hand on her back every time she does something that would make Wyatt proud. And maybe the most confusing of all, she knows the feelings of Dolls’ lips on her shoulder, in her hair, against her mouth, so jarring yet so soft it leaves her more breathless than anything —  or anyone —  else ever has. She knows the warmth of his arms, the sting of his isolation, the way his lips curl to fight laughter when she says something, usually an insult, that he finds funny but doesn’t want to admit to.

The problem is, she also knows sex, knows “no strings attached,” knows how to give her body to someone who’s only taking it so that they can fill the same void she has. She knows how to block numbers and avoid exes and swipe right on Tinder — not like she has time for that now, but she had some fun in Europe — but none of that meant anything. Coming home to a made bed and a found family all of her own and fluttery feelings in her stomach every time her ex-boss looks at her  _ that way _ is something new, and she doesn’t know if she deserves it. She does like it, though. She can admit that.

Dolls is confusing, just like she is, and maybe that’s the explanation for how she got so caught up in him without even realizing it. He’s cold sometimes, quiet and vacant and she can feel his pain, can hear the echoes of the stories he doesn't tell her. Things have happened in his life —  bad things — and there are times when she meets his eyes and there’s a sort of recognition of undiscussed trauma. She knows Black Badge fucked him up somehow; he doesn’t say much about it, and she figures he might not even know, which may be the worst part of it all.

He’s scared like she is, and that makes things feel impossible but also maybe _right,_ and she feels a little less alone every time he’s around. She doesn’t want to jinx them, whatever they are, but when he’s around, it’s the closest thing she’s ever felt to a kind of love that matters. 

Yet, she’s never been good at accepting love. She’s been taught to push it away, to hold her own and not need anyone else, and she’s tried to make herself whole through independence but it just leaves her gaping and needing, and it aches a little more every time. 

    “Everyone needs love,” Waverly tells her, voice honest, arms warm around her bones that shiver despite her proximity to the fire dwindling in the fireplace. 

    “You, especially, deserve it,” she says, and Wynonna can’t help the scoff that escapes her lips. It was a long day outside, and even longer with not a single revenant down. But more than that, it’s just the fact that her whole life has been filled with people telling her the exact opposite, so it’s a little hard to believe, even from Waverly, ever passionate and truthful. 

Wynonna’s trying to break down her walls, she really is, but she was raised to be guarded and it’s served her well. Sometimes it just seems hopeless. So much work and redundancy and anger and sadness only to end up in the ground someday, forgotten, just like every other Earp before her that failed to break the curse. It would be so much easier to give up and become another number, another effort that wasn’t good enough, but she can’t, especially when Waverly looks at her like that. She can’t, so she has to keep going.

  
  


_ Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me _

_ 'Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see _

_ I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe _

_ There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me _

  
  


There’s three revenants left.  _ Three.  _

The homestead is hushed, almost silent, and all Wynonna can hear is the whispers from Waverly and Nicole in the other room — patching up their wounds, she imagines, and nausea runs through her gut when her suspicions are confirmed and she hears the familiar sound of the first aid kit opening. She’s alone in the room except for the fire, and she resonates with it more than she should as she watches the sparks die out, landing in the pile of ash on the fireplace before her, turning to black. It’s more silent than it usually is, and it’s a mix between calm and eerie that puts her both on edge and tired. She sits on the couch, knees pulled to her chest and stares at the burning log, sparking with flames, for so long her vision blurs and she feels almost like she doesn’t exist, almost like she’s not there. 

She doesn’t know how long it takes before she picks up her phone and calls Dolls. She dials his number with such little thought it would scare her if there was anything in the world left to be scared of, and when she asks him to come over she doesn’t think she needs to explain herself. 

He hesitates, and there’s only a little shame in her chest — what does she have to lose, by now? The gunshot wound against her hip is scarring. 

Then he agrees, voice gentle and a little worn out —  they’re all so, so tired, she should probably have taken this time to sleep and let him and Waverly and Nicole do the same but she’s not that wise, never has been. 

Before he hangs up, he says, “I’ll see you soon, Earp”, and there’s a rawness in it that makes her heart long for something she isn’t familiar with.

He gets there quick, and when he steps inside there’s snowflakes on his hat. She worries for a second if was speeding to get to her, especially when the roads have been icy lately, but she keeps her mouth shut. Voicing that concern feels too intimate, too scary, kind of like everything else right now.

It’s not scary when she takes his hand, though, when his fingers lace with hers and he squeezes ever so slightly and she swears she can feel some of her fear ease out of her with his touch. He doesn’t say anything as she leads him to the bedroom, not even when she locks the door behind them and slips off her cardigan. 

Tentative, on the other side of the bed, she lifts up the blankets and gestures lamely for him to get in. 

    “I...I’m sorry, I just really wanted company, I know you were probably already sleeping so this is stupid,” she rubs her forehead once she realizes the awkwardness of the situation, thankful that her fingers block out most of the view of him. She’s embarrassed, suddenly unsure, like she’s forgotten this isn’t the first time they’ve slept together —  not  _ slept together,  _ that hasn’t happened yet — but actual sleeping, and he’s a goddamn great spooner, how could she not want to invite him over again? But this is different, somehow — new territory, and she feels like she’s made a mistake. 

    “Hey,” Dolls says, easing her rambling, and he surprises her when she opens her eyes and he’s beside her now. “Don’t worry.”

It’s a general thing to say; when he climbs into her bed she wonders what exactly he’s inferring to. She doesn’t wait to rest her head on his chest, his arm circles around her waist first and she nestles in so close, so fast that it feels alarmingly natural. 

    “You okay?” Dolls asks after a few minutes, fingers running soft against her shoulder.

    “Not really,” she admits, but then adds, with newfound determination, “but I will be once I break this fucking curse.”

He surprises her by pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and she surprises herself by how affected she is by it; she finds herself drawing even closer to him almost without even being conscious of it.

    “You will,” he says, and there’s so much certainty in those words and the simplicity with which he says them that makes her honestly believe him, even if only in the moment. 

She falls asleep with tears on her cheeks, his breath on her neck, and his hand in hers. When she wakes up, she has a little more strength in her — not much, but more than before, and that’s something.

 

_ So young and full of running, all the way to the edge of desire _

_ Steady my breathing, silently screaming, "I have to have you now" _

  
  


It’s done. The curse.  _ It’s done. _

Wynonna doesn’t drink that night. Waverly and Nicole and Doc pour shots and throw them back, mixing cake batter and cheering and hugging and throwing a party that Wynonna can’t complain about because she deserves this, she deserves this, _she deserves this._

She wants to be sober for this, though. She feels alive, for the first time she can recall,  _ really alive.  _ Hours after she put the last revenant in the ground, she can still feel her heart pounding, can hear the blood rushing through her ears, can feel the relief of putting Peacemaker in a box and locking it away. 

Never again. No one ever has to do this again. Because  _ she  _ did it. 

She feels the same, but she also doesn’t, and it’s something she doesn’t know how to describe. She’s still the girl who people called “freak” and “psycho” because she saw demons and didn’t keep her mouth shut about it. She’s still the girl who had to watch her father die once and sister twice, both at her own hands, and she’s still the girl who had to live with the guilt. She’ll never escape that, but now it seems that she can at least start over. 

Dolls arrives a little later, with a very excited Jeremy in tow bearing a cake of his own, lopsided frosting reading, “ _ YOU DID IT!” _ Wynonna surprises herself when she lets him pull her into a hug and reciprocates, ruffling his hair. 

Dolls hangs up his coat in the hallway and joins them in the kitchen. He declines a shot- he’s never liked alcohol, Wynonna knows this- but says next time they get together he’ll have a drink. She nudges him, asking why, and he shrugs. 

    “New beginnings,” he says simply. “Maybe now I can let loose a little more.”

    “Waves, are you recording this?” Wynonna practically yells across the room, a confused Waverly sprawled on the couch peeking over Nicole’s shoulder, clearly much more interested in her girlfriend than Doll’s drinking habits.

It’s a good night. The  _ best  _ night, and she doesn’t want it to end, not now, maybe not ever. But Jeremy’s asleep on the kitchen table, frosting on his chin, Doc’s getting more firewood and Waverly’s changed out of her dress into her pajamas, talking quietly with Nicole, and Wynonna meets his eyes across from the room, he gives her a slight nod, urging her to come over. She walks over with so much giddiness and spring in her step that she laughs, amazed by her own capability to be happy, and it shocks everyone to hear it coming from her, except it doesn’t because she’s  _ free.  _

Dolls brushes his hand against her wrist, leading her down the hall to her room, and it’s only when he shuts the door with his right hand that she realizes he has a box in his left.

    “I got you something,” he says softly before handing her the box, all red ribbon and sharp edges, just like the dress she wore the first time she kissed him and he kissed her back and then he got taken away from her not even twenty four hours later. She pushes the memory out of her mind; he’s here, she’s here, they’re safe, it’s  _ over.  _

She bites her lip as she undoes the ribbon, eyes darting up to his, and his gaze is soft, expectant, hopeful. 

When she lifts the top off, her heart lurches and  _ goddamn it,  _ she’s going to cry, there’s no way she isn’t going to cry, because sitting on a throne of velvet cloth is a golden charm, engraved with words she’s afraid to read because the tears are already in her eyes and there’s no way they aren’t falling.

She lets out a half-choked sob when she reads it, today’s date carved into it with perfect, clean lines. 

    “It’s for your necklace,” he says, as if she couldn’t tell, and all she can do is envelop him in the tightest hug she can possibly manage.

    “Thank you,” she breathes out. She wipes haphazardly at her eyes, sniffling and laughing and grinning so hard her face hurts. “God, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

    “Same here, Earp,” Dolls says, smiling bigger than she’s ever seen on him. His hands linger on her back, barely there but enough to make her aware of it, and she looks at him for a long moment, not afraid but relishing in the anticipation, because she knows what’s next. She thinks he does too. 

When he leans in to meet her lips there’s a flutter of satisfaction in her stomach, pleased that for once she read things right- that’s another miracle in and of itself- and then he’s kissing her and her arms are around his shoulders and his hands are warm around her waist and she can’t think of anything else. 

It’s urgent already, making up for lost time already, she thinks; his hands slip down to the back pockets of her pants and she tightens her grip around his neck before hooking her legs around his waist, climbing into his arms. He lets out a soft sigh in response and she nips at his bottom lip, laughing, and then dropping her head back when he kisses her neck. He moves slowly towards the bed and her eyes flit to the door for just a second, the only rational distraction she’ll allow herself from this moment, from the way he nuzzles his nose against her throat as he trails down to her collarbone. The last thing she wants right now is any kind of interruption.

He hovers over her on the bed, panting, and when he bends to kiss her, slower this time, she smiles into it. 

    “We don’t have to rush,” she murmurs, trailing her hand across his cheek, just because she can, and God, he’s beautiful. 

He nods, licking his lips. His gaze is soft on hers. “Whatever you want.”

    “Well…” her fingers skim across his back, up his shirt and along his spine until the fabric is bunched up at the hem. Her other hand brushes against his bottom lip, and then she gets in so close it’s almost painful to not kiss him. 

    “I want you,” she says, and it’s sexy, for sure, but also the most honest thing she’s said in a long time (which makes it almost sexier in some weird kind of way). 

Dolls smirks almost boyishly as he pulls off his shirt and they both make quick work of their clothes, thrown into a pile on the floor, and all Wynonna can think is  _ this should have happened so much sooner  _ but at the same time, this is the only scenario that seems right.

He sucks kisses against her chest, slow and languid, and she lets out quiet whines when he uses teeth every now and then; she’s amazed he knows exactly what she likes, and when he crawls between her legs it’s no different. 

    “Now,” she whimpers, and he brings her to the edge of desire on command, letting her linger and wait and then fall apart, watching with a gaze nothing short of amazement.

  
  


_ Wired and I'm tired _

_ Think I'll sleep in my clothes on the floor _

_ Maybe this mattress will spin on its axis and find me on yours _

  
  


She doesn’t sleep that night, and she doesn’t really care. She doesn’t have to worry about waking up early anymore, doesn’t have to think about demons or bullets or polishing her gun or  _ anything,  _ because it’s done. She’s done.

So she doesn’t sleep. She probably should — she’s tired, somewhere underneath the vibrations of happiness and freedom and new beginnings she longs for sleep — but instead she lays awake, staring at the ceiling and grinning like a teenager after being named prom queen. It’s a new feeling, this vibrancy and lack of loneliness, and she’s got so much pain inside her but it all feels so distant now, like it was a different lifetime, like it doesn’t matter.

She runs her fingertips along her skin, tracing patterns on her stomach, arms, thighs, over and over with thoughts of Dolls in her mind, and it’s her own fault because it’s doing the exact opposite of helping her relax. She’s practically buzzing, alive and anew with his touch and his  _ love, _ goddamn it, she’ll say it because that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be because she’s never felt this good after sex, ever. She closes her eyes and remisces of his hands, his mouth, his skin on her skin and she’s ridiculously wired again, ready to call him up and do it all over again, maybe this time in his bed. 

It’s two thirty-six in the morning, but she wonders if he’s up too, thinking of her and the way he turned her to silk with whisper light touches and slick fingers. She knows if she was asleep, even if she was having the best sleep of her life, if he called her she’d be out the door in a second. He’d texted her goodnight, even sent her an emoji, something he never does, so now all she wants to know is if he’s doing the same thing she is. She wonders if he aches against his bedsheets and wishes he wasn’t alone, too.

It’s just that she thinks it may have been the best day of her life, and the fact alone that she can honestly, truthfully think that is a miracle. Granted, the competition of past days wasn’t too high —  her list of shitty days went at least a mile long —  but she’s feeling so good now about  _ everything  _ that she really thinks this could be it.

He’s not her boss anymore, their work is done; now there’s new things they can be doing.

There’s so much that hasn’t been said, but there’s always tomorrow. And this time, she’s not afraid to face it.

  
  


_ There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me _

  
  


    “So now what?” Dolls asks her the next day when he comes back to the homestead, bearing another box that she’s thankful isn’t another present because then she’ll really cry. Instead, it’s vegan donuts — mainly for Waverly because they’re her favorite and the shop usually doesn’t have them — and Wynonna judges them but never turns down free dessert. She greets him with a brush of her hand and a kiss on the corner of his mouth when she thinks Waverly and Nicole aren’t looking; they are, and when she invites him to sit with her on the porch, they break into incredulous stares and gossip.

    “I don’t know,” Wynonna admits after a sip of coffee and a few minutes of mulling over his question. “Europe? That’s always what I thought I’d do if I ever finished this — just get the hell out of Purgatory —but now I’m not so sure if I ever want to leave.”

    “Me neither,” he replies, and it’s a simple comment, chaste and not hiding anything from her, but she still spins to look at him. She examines his eyes, looking for a tell or a shift or anything, suddenly looking for an answer she hadn’t even realized she’d been asking.

    “What?”

    “Nothing.” 

She turns her gaze to the field ahead of them, the open expanse of land, mountains in the distance that she wonders what they’d look like up close, and shrugs. When she meets his eyes again she forgets why she’d tried to lie in the first place. There’s no point anymore, and he knows her too well. By the look on his face, he knows what she’s thinking of.

    “I just thought maybe you’d want to...you know, leave as soon as this was over. Go back home and do something new, less stressful, maybe take a vacation. Not that I ever pegged you as a vacation guy, at least not in the beginning of all of this, but I feel like if you haven’t seen the Grand Canyon yet you’re missing out, that might be your thing-”

He cuts off her rambling when he comes to her side, a hand soft on hers and it distracts her enough to shut up and flick her eyes towards her shoes, embarassed.

After a moment, he says, “you know, you’re right, I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon.”

She bites her lip before saying, “you should go” and she’s surprised art the words leaving her mouth because she doesn’t want to push him away, that’s the last thing she wants. She’s wholeheartedly terrified he’ll walk away, though; leave Purgatory in the dust, something she couldn’t blame him for doing— hell, it’s something she’s done before. But leaving Purgatory means leaving  _ her, _ and sure, Black Badge all but dissipated years ago but she figures he probably had a list of tasks to deal with once he finished up here and he probably didn’t anticipate he’d stay here so long so maybe he does want to get the hell out of here...

    “You wanna come?” he asks, and there he goes, surprising her once again.

    “Dolls, I...I don’t know, I’d love to but I can’t leave Waves again and...I honestly can’t believe I’m saying this but at this very second, leaving Purgatory isn’t at the top of my list?” Her voice rises at the end, and he grins at her uncertainty while she mentally slaps herself for it.

    “Hey, babe, I’m not saying right now, okay?” he says, and his hand moves to her hip, coming in closer, and she’s almost too preoccupied with that to notice that he called her “babe.”  _ Almost.  _

    “Whenever,” Dolls continues, “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I don’t really have anywhere else to go, if I’m being upfront with you, and there’s nowhere else I’d want to be. But I would like to see more of the world with you, at least more than just some half-dead town ironically named Purgatory.”

Wynonna laughs, and her fingers come up to play with the zipper of his jacket. “Hey, we’re here, and we’ve wreaked some pretty damn good havoc on this sleepy town.”

He smiles, honest and full and  _ hers,  _ and the only reason she doesn’t rise up on her toes and kiss him- a kiss which would undoubtedly be mainly teeth in a failed stifle of a grin- is that she’s a little too busy watching the way his eyes glint in the sunlight.

    “So, you’re gonna stay?” she asks. “You’re not gonna forget about me now that this is all over?” 

She knows the answer but she’s still a little afraid he’ll pull away, bring his guard back up, and drive away and never come back. She imagines calling his phone and getting a dead line and a no longer active voicemail box rather than his voice, and her stomach twists, a dark voice in the back of her mind that she thought she’d finally overpowered whispering that  _ this has all been too good to be true, something’s going to go wrong now. _

Instead, his arms tighten around her waist and she swears the little voice goes silent for what feels like the first time in maybe ever.

    “Not a chance,” Dolls says, and she lurches up to kiss him, arms around his shoulders, fingers around his neck, and she breathes him in as deep as she can, puts as much passion into the kiss as she can because thank God, thank God,  _ thank God. _

__ “So, how about the Grand Canyon next winter? A little break from the snow?” Dolls asks when they go back into the house.

    “God, no, if we go in the winter I’ll never come back. And Waverly’s been begging me to show her around Greece, I can’t abandon her without doing that first.”

    “Who’s abandoning who?” Waverly calls from the other room, and Wynonna envelops her in a hug, kissing the side of her head when she wanders into the kitchen, fuzzy pajamas, polka dot slippers and all. 

    “Nobody’s abandoning anyone, baby girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this made me very emotional??? Dare I say this was one of my favorite fics I've written so far and also one of the hardest; I've been struggling with a bit of writer's block lately and failure to get my writing in the place where I want it to be, but I've been working on this for about a month and was so eager to share it with the world, so I just had to let it be done. I would really appreciate any and all feedback, feel free to drop any comments here or on my Tumblr inbox under the same username!


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